Survival Instinct
by Unnamed.in.whispers
Summary: Voyager is forced to strand Tuvok and Seven on the Norcadian fighting ship where Seven becomes the most popular fighter in the arena, a title that earns some rewards... such as the keeping of a pet. The days are long and the battle is hard and the rest... is down to survival instinct. Deals with violence and darker sexual encounters.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Survival **Pairing:** Tuvok/Seven

**Series:** Star Trek Voyager **Rating:** 18R **Type:** Fanfiction – Dark/AU

**Summary:** Voyagers attempt to rescue Tuvok and Seven from the Norcadian fighting ship fails and they are forced to strand the two crewmates. Seven was forced to kill her Hirogen training mentor and becomes the most popular fighter in the arena, a title that earns some rewards... such as the keeping of a pet. The days are long and the battle is hard and the rest... is down to survival instinct.

Deals with violence and darker sexual encounters.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Star Trek characters or anything from the universe of Star Trek. I am just taking the characters and playing with them a while – promising to restore them whole and unblemished! Thanks to Gene Rodenberry for creating these toys for me to enjoy. Please don't take any of my playing as having any bearing on the actual series. Enjoy.

()

Seven was exhausted but had managed to stagger back to her room under the watchful guard of her jailers.

The match had been a trying one, yet she had prevailed.

The crowds hated her. Other competitors hated her. Her master adored that.

She reached the door she had been seeking and took a moment to steady herself before entering.

The space was sparse and grey. No luxuries; a small kitchenette, larger living space with desk, chairs and an uncomfortable mattress covered in thin quilts.

The bathing area was fully stocked, however. The sonic shower was efficient enough and the medical cabinet brimmed with solutions, vaccinations, vitamins and rubs.

Couldn't have the prize fighter falling ill.

One of the privileges of being Penk's top earner was private quarters. The other was the allowance to keep a pet.

"How badly are you injured?" Tuvok asked from the kitchenette, rounding the counter to approach her.

"I remain... fundamentally undamaged." She conceded, taking a moment to lean her war-weary form against the cold metal of the wall.

She hissed with satisfaction as Tuvok collected the dermal regenerator.

He was at her side in a moment. "You are bruised."

"It will heal." She insisted, "I simply need rest and sustenance."

The debilitating weight of her own muscles was suddenly lifted away as strong hands were gently placed under her arms and Tuvok led her deeper into their room.

Seven was placed on the padded bed as Tuvok fetched a bowl from the counter.

She relaxed into the thin foam, allowing herself to let down her defences and attempt to quell the surge of adrenaline that throbbed round her veins.

It was a disturbing trend she had noted in the last few battles Penk had matched her in. Seven of Nine found herself exhilarated by the fight. Particularly the one in which she had just featured.

"May I ask how you fared?"

"The Pendari," she told him, allowing a dark smirk to form, "was annihilated."

It was a moment Seven had relished.

In her very first bought in the pit Seven had refused to unleash her full force and was beaten down by a particularly aggressive alien and Tsunkatse champion.

"Did you kill him?"

The question made Seven blink. "It was not a red match."

"Did you want to kill him?"

She looked up to the Vulcan; his eyes dark and steady.

"Perhaps."

Tuvok nodded solemnly, as though she had somehow answered a puzzle.

"Explain."

He leaned forward, activating the regenerator and moving it over a particularly purple bruise on her arm. "I have been concerned with your post-battle stresses..."

"Since I killed the Hirogen?" Seven finished the sentence.

A terrible acknowledgement hung in the air.

"I am Borg," Seven retreated behind her familiar mask, "I have killed before."

"Not like this." Tuvok countered, moving closer to her and tilting her body into his as his fingers slipped beneath her tunic, pushing the fabric away and tilting her to access her back. "When you were Borg," he continued, "you assimilated from afar. You killed at a distance."

Seven let out an involuntary hiss as the regenerator tingled and renewed damaged cells and cooled inflamed muscles.

"But this... enforced combat." Tuvok continued, moving her further to him to push her suit down to her middle-back and reach a wound sustained to her kidney. "It is different Seven."

"I have only been involved in one red match, Commander." Seven pointed out, leaning over to cover herself. "I have not excessively damaged other competitors since."

Tuvok completed his ministrations and turned away, moving back to the kitchenette. "It is only a matter of time."

Seven feared the truth in her friends statement.

()

They had been allowed the following day to 'rest' – which they had; Seven requested more literature for Tuvok and a days training in the gym suite for herself.

Penk had arrived to gush over Seven's prowess in the ring, flatter her that she was the finest warrior he had in his arsenal and darken with greed as he considered the possibilities for her future.

"After all," he hissed as he exited, "it's not like anyone will be trying rescue you again."

Seven turned away as the alien exited, feeling a sudden wave of anger build against the helplessness. Her first blow ripped the punch bag from its chain.

She stood there, watching the sand pour from the ruptured material, bleeding onto the metal floor. A cold sensation numbed the anger and irrefutable pain she felt.

They were abandoned.

Tuvok and Seven had been left behind by those she trusted the most.

She turned on her heel and left the room.

The sand continued to fall.

()

After a week of rest and preparation, Seven sat to a full meal with her one-time crew mate as Tuvok served lean meat and prepared lentils. He ate only the pulses, but Seven felt the protein energise her.

Throughout the meal, she observed her companion as he surreptitiously watched her. Seven noted Tuvoks increasing concern for her wellbeing. Perhaps the Vulcan was concerned that latent human emotion was ailing her.

"I have accepted our predicament," she announced, piercing a portion of meat. "There is no need for concern."

A curious brow rose in response. "By our predicament, I assume you are referring to the situation we find ourselves in."

She felt a smile sweep over her lips, "A circular response, Commander. It might seem you are attempting to have me answer an unaired question."

Placid as a barren stream, Tuvok finished his plate, placed the cutlery on the side and steeped his fingers. "If there is a need of me to ask the question, I shall. However, it would seem yours is the greater."

Seven felt her lips press together in frustration as dark eyes searched her for any outward signs of distress.

It was futile.

And yet, there was the smallest, weakest part of her that raged at the machine. It would be heard. No matter the cost.

"Do you believe Voyager has given up the quest to free us?" She asked while Tuvok cleared the plates.

The commander stiffened at the question, hesitating before continuing in his task. "It would be logical to assume they were unable to attempt a further rescue. They are but one ship and, from what I can ascertain, this arena is well protected."

Seven sighed out breath she had not noted she was holding.

Tuvok was by her side. "I do not believe Captain Janeway would have abandoned us lightly, Seven."

"It is likely she or the crew were harmed in the original rescue attempt."

Tuvok nodded solemnly, "From past instances, I would assume much worse."

The thought of crew fatality had not occurred until that moment and Seven instantly despaired. Had any of the crew died in the attempt to save her?

Nothing else was said.

The announcer arrived with a secure squad to collect her for the due blue match.

She feared nothing and, as Tuvok wished her well, Seven headed out of her quarters and back to the arena.

The familiar rush of adrenaline strengthened her muscles as she entered the fighting zone, imagining the cheering crowd. She noted the rush of anticipation as her opponent was announced.

A heavy-set alien lumbered forward from the open door.

Seven had identified his weaknesses before he joined her in the pit; a left limp that indicated previous dislocation of the knee, a slight squint in the right eye indicating previous injury, a lean to the right showing damage to the ribs.

She was confident the bout would be over in moments.

Then a third competitor entered the arena.

"What is this?"

The shorter, lithe alien sneered at her, "Payback, Borg."

The larger creature snarled.

"I am no longer Borg." Seven reasoned, shifting back to assess the situation. It seemed her opponents were aware of their partnership as they stepped in opposite directions to split her concentration.

This was not a free-for-all... but a duo set against her.

Naturally, she sank into a defence posture to wait-out her opponents, inwardly seething with barely suppressed rage.

The larger one attempted to draw her attention whilst the smaller twisted on the edge of her periphery.

Seven smiled. They had clearly not anticipated Borg-enhanced visual acuity. This theory was soon borne out as the smaller of the pair darted toward her.

Moving easily, Seven shifted her bodyweight and redirected him, crashing the fragile alien into the chest of his sturdier mate.

The larger of the two blinked as his partner slid, bonelessly to the floor.

Seven watched the mountainous figure shiver slightly and felt her muscles bunch in preparation of attack.

As anticipated, a roar erupted from the enraged alien as he stampeded toward her.

She was prepared; shifting upward by stepping heavily on the weakened knee and somersaulting over him before he had time to react.

Seven landed lightly; the assailant did not.

The mammoth alien crashed to the ground, howling as he attempted to stand. The smaller creature was…

Seven looked about the space…

Gone.

Warily, she backed toward the door to block any possibility of escape.

The light whirled around her; Penk was observing the match from his office on the higher level, a particularly nasty expression plastered over his usual smug expression. It was a look that told her the best was yet to come. It was a look that told her this match was set to draw blood. That blood would be hers.

Glaring at Penk made no odds; indeed, it only served as a further distraction as she reeled from a strong impact to the base of the neck.

Blinking furiously, to clear her vision, Seven staggered but did not fall as she cast wild glances about the arena attempting to locate the source of the attack.

The large alien remained, howling, attempting to stand; she vaguely wondered if there was a chance the smallest of the pair was using him to hide from plain sight.

She pressed her eyes against the rainbow spots dotting her vision and attempted to control the rush of anger that burned through her body.

Where was it?

A blur at the periphery of her vision snapped her head to the side as the faintest silhouette of the small creature rushed behind her.

Got it.

Lunging back with an elbow, Seven felt the unmistakeable crunch of the creatures nose as the thick, metallic smell of blood shot past her left ear. But she was not without injury as a sharp-tipped boot dug beneath her rib with a sickening crack.

She twisted, feigning right to keep both targets in the front of the field.

The larger of the two had, at last, found his feet.

Breath came in quick, painful bursts as she adopted the stance of an injured animal.

The colossus read the signs perfectly, honing in on his prey… hands outstretched, ready to crush...

Seven had the move in her head and, at the last, made it. But she was weighed down by invisible weight and too sluggish to dodge both gigantic, reaching hands.

He had her by the throat, dragging her body against gravity and hauling her from the floor like a rag-doll.

The heavier weight at her feet began to shift and work up her legs as she clawed at the vice-like grip of her attacker.

Searing pain lanced through her as she noted, in horror, the sharp sting of teeth at her thigh. In the bottom of her vision, she saw the glint of a blade and followed the path as it swooped out of view and a fresh rip of pain burned just above the first cut.

Rage, fuelled by adrenaline kicked though her and she shook the smaller alien, attempting to dislodge his grip from her legs.

It only served to make him cling more tightly to her frame, the blade in his hand pressing at the backs of her calves.

Her teeth ground together as she allowed herself to hang from the neck and scrabbled at her endoskeleton, finding her borg interface and adjusting their connections.

A sharp discharge of electricity spiked, hurling all three opponents to opposite sides of the ring in a green static burst.

Seven was the first on her feet, focused solely on the weapon in the shorter creatures hand.

Hurling herself at the smaller alien, her only intent was to damage him and retrieve the blade for herself.

Moments blanked out as she wrestled the smaller opponent, won the blade, rendered him unconscious and moved to the larger creature.

She struck at his damaged eye, swinging round to deliver a blow to his unprotected ribs again and again.

He fell; defeated.

Seven turned her attention to the observation post, searching out Penks smug grin.

The bastard was practically drooling.

Before she knew she was in motion, Seven let a primal scream rage out as she assaulted the arena walls, brutally stabbing them until the reached the upper level.

"Penk!" She spat, "I'll get you! Do you hear me?

She drove the illegal blade deep into the wall of the office, screaming in frustration and clawing at the immovable glass.

Hands clamped her arms, muscles dragging her away as she hissed and spat objection, nails raking into the floor to reach her prey.

The match was over. She had won. But the madness had not quelled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Survival [Part Two] **Pairing:** Tuvok/Seven

**Series:** Star Trek Voyager **Rating:** 18R **Type:** Fanfiction – Dark/AU

**Summary**: Voyagers attempt to rescue Tuvok and Seven from the Norcadian fighting ship fails and they are forced to strand the two crewmates. Seven was forced to kill her Hirogen training mentor and becomes the most popular fighter in the arena.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Star Trek characters or anything from the universe of Star Trek. I am just taking the characters and playing with them a while – promising to restore them whole and unblemished! Thanks to Gene Rodenberry for creating these toys for me to enjoy. Please don't take any of my playing as having any bearing on the actual series. Enjoy.

()

Seven was returned to her quarters; adrenaline firing her veins and hate spiking her emotions.

She was hurled into the room; disturbing Tuvok from his meditations and forcing the commander to rush to steady her; his hands gripping lightly, his chest supporting her back.

"Well done, Borg. This time," the security guard called as the door shut, "We're only just starting with you."

Hands held her too tight and Seven wrenched herself from Tuvoks grip… but the door was closed before she could reach it and she slid down the cold, metal surface until she reached a crouching position and cradled her head in an attempt to suppress her rage.

They had tried to kill her… they weren't interested in playing by the rules of the game they had forced her to participate in… they just wanted to see the Borg bleed.

The smash of her fists on the metal did nothing to ease the rage inside her… so she smashed them again, letting a cry as flesh and bone protested… and again… and again…

Hands gripped her, suppressing and encaging; she twisted up and into the accidental embrace of the Vulcan.

His arms were steel; strength and shelter… but the smallest part of Seven that melted into despair angered the enraged being she had become in the arena and she pushed back against the commanders support.

Tuvoks usually calm exterior was masked with concern, surprise and somewhere in the back of her mind a voice told her he was a friend but her body reacted before that voice could hold her back and she raised her arms, breaking free and shoving him back.

Tuvok staggered slightly, turning slightly to open his palms in a show of surrender, "Seven…"

She couldn't help it; adrenaline fired and, seeing the opening, Seven charged, shooting past him as he spiralled off to miss her.

"Seven!" He shouted louder, but the Borg had regained her ground and lashed out, aiming a roundhouse kick in his direction.

The action failed; Tuvok jumped beyond her reach, falling into a defensive crouch as he observed her…

She flailed and span, bringing her close enough to bring her arm down so Tuvok was forced to defend, by shifting his eyes up to catch the falling blow.

Seven had him, punching out to his ribs and sweeping down to take his legs from under him.

The Vulcan fell, landing on his back.

Seven was over him, pressing her legs into his, her hands on his wrists…

"Seven!"

Her eyes narrowed and she bit back a snarl.

"Seven of Nine!" Tuvok bellowed.

The sound of her name finally hit and she hesitated, reassessing the situation…

War raged within her, finding her centre seemed impossible, but she held her ground… "Commander…"

Feeling like she was charged with pure electricity, Seven tried to calm the hammering of her heart, breathing wildly and blinking back into the moment.

Seconds passed as centuries and she found her anger lessen…

Tuvok kept his features neutral, "You were successful?"

The questioned fired her nerves, "Obviously." She increased the pressure on his wrists, earning a slight hiss.

It excited her.

"Are you intending to remain here?" He asked.

Seven felt her jaw clench as she regarded him; allowing the feelings crashing over her to register.

There was a primal sense of victory… he was beneath her… he was hers… she felt like she should mark him as such… was that a Klingon imperative left over from the Borg subconscious within her?

The first hint of cold analysis sent a shock through her… what was she doing?

It took a moment to realise she had stood and was pacing about the small living space; her emotions were clearly clouding her rationale.

Tuvok took his time to gather himself and stand, statuesque, in his usual, detached manner. The calmness of the man irritated her and it was all she could do to hold herself back from striking him.

What was becoming of her?

She looked about the room for anything to settle the chaos inside her; until her eyes fell upon the empty kitchen table.

Seven shot the Vulcan a sour glance. "Are there no nutrients for my consumption?"

"Indeed," he stood, serene against the onslaught. "I have prepared an energy supplement and balanced meal for your sustenance. Would you care for me to retrieve it?"

Blowing frustrated air through her nose, she strode toward the kitchen and wrenched the food heater open, throwing a look across the basic meal. A small part of her understanding it was the best Tuvok could prepare under the circumstance, but a greater part of her wanted more.

"This is insufficient."

Tuvok remained at a safe distance, "May I ask how I can improve the offering?"

She resumed pacing, tensing and releasing her fists against the building frustration.

"You are injured." The commander observed.

Seven startled a moment, looking over herself and noticing the tears on her bloodied fighting suit. "I do not require maintenance."

"You are running off adrenaline. It would be wise to allow me to assist you."

Unable to counter his logic, Seven threw herself onto the nearest seat and tore her uniform down.

Bringing the familiar bowl of water and cloth, Tuvok avoided her eye as he wrung the material and applied the satisfyingly cool fabric to a wound on her neck.

"I was pitted against two opponents." She found herself saying, avidly interested in the Vulcans surprised reaction.

"And you prevailed."

"I am Borg."

"Indeed," Tuvok went about tending the cut on her shoulder in silence for a moment. "Did one of these aliens have serrated ridges."

"Neither," Seven nearly exploded in outrage, but managed to rein it in. "One of them had been permitted to smuggle a blade into the arena."

She felt Tuvoks fingers tighten ever so slightly. "A blade?" He questioned.

"He produced the weapon when it seemed I had finished his comrade."

Tuvok was suddenly spinning her round to face him, "Finished?"

Outrage faltered and became confusion, "When I rendered the first competitor unconscious."

Tuvok said nothing.

Seven angered, "You doubt I speak the truth!"

Tuvok looked shocked… for a Vulcan, "I did not display doubt…"

"You hesitated," Seven spat, "You are not prone to hesitation, Commander."

"I am simply adjusting to what you have told me."

Seven span in her chair, "And I have told you I was ambushed. Penk set me against two armed opponents in direct violation of the rules he instructed us to follow."

Tuvok cautiously edged away from her, "I understand your distress, Seven."

"Understanding is no necessary," she insisted, feeling her rage spike up as she stood over her friend, "action is required."

She had crossed the room in an instant, but was surprised to see the Vulcan blocking her path.

"I can not allow you to confront Penk and risk our lives," Tuvok explained.

"I do not intend to confront him," Seven spat, "I intend to maim and kill him!"

Even now, the Vulcan rose a brow and calmly said, "Understood."

"Understanding is not required," she hissed, placing a hand on Tuvoks arm to remove him from her path.

A sharp twinge at her neck instantly sprang through her nerves and Seven fell, incapacitated, into her Commanders arms… the last words she heard were "Your mind to my mind…"


End file.
